to mould this stubborn human
material into soldiers--soldiers who, after the first rough shaping,
had to be trained till finally they attained their highest end: fitness
for active service.

At the same time he had to pursue his own studies in military science.
But he would have been ashamed to call that work; he knew no nobler
pleasure, and would gladly have sat up the whole night over the plans
of the general staff, only refraining so that the next morning might
find him fresh with the needful, or, as he smilingly called it, the
"regulation" vigour for practical duty.

Thus, when Guentz had gone, Reimers was in danger of becoming somewhat
shy of his fellow-creatures. He had honestly to put constraint on
himself to fulfil the claims of comradeship with a good grace, and more
especially his social obligations. He was most at home in outdoor
recreations; he played tennis with enthusiasm, and had nothing against
excursions on foot or bicycle with a picnic thrown in, or the
regimental races, or hunting. These all meant healthy exercise, and
afforded a wholesome change from the confined life of the garrison. But
winter, with its obligatory dinners and balls, was a torment to him.

On one occasion, standing in the doorway of a ballroom, he had closed
his ears so as to exclude all sound of the music, and then had
seriously doubted the sanity of the men and women he saw madly jumping
about. He felt almost ashamed afterwards when he had to ask the no
longer youthful Frau Lischke for a dance; but the fat lady hung smiling
on his arm, and did not spare him a single round. Reimers thought sadly
of his honest friend Guentz, and the rude things he had been wont to say
about such follies as these.

But chance threw in his way a gift which to some extent compensated him
for the loss of his friend. He and Colonel von Falkenhein were brought
together; and, by the irony of fate, at one of these same odious balls.

After working through his duty dances, Reimers had allowed himself to
omit a polka, and was leaning out of a window in the end room of the
suite, when Colonel Falkenhein tapped him on the shoulder.

The colonel was bored; for those of the older men who were not occupied
with the ladies had set themselves down to cards, and he--a widower,
whose only daughter was still at school--could not bear cards, and
liked dancing still less. This Lieutenant Reimers, standing alone
gazing out into the night, seemed a kindred spirit.